


Love Potion Number Nine

by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Oral Sex, Unrealistic Sex, sex spell, sixty nine, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15552840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster
Summary: “I’m at least getting you laid. You’ve been edgy lately and I’ve had enough of it.” - That pretty much sums it up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up last week with this fic in my head. It just slammed into my mind, fully formed and dying to get out. I wrote every second of my spare time, and while I don’t think this is my best work by any means, it was fun as hell to write. 
> 
> Once again, no beta. All mistakes are mine.

You stride through the crowd and grab an empty stool at the bar. The place is busy, typical for a Friday night in a busy city. The jukebox is jamming, people are dancing, somewhere along the back wall Sam and Dean are hustling pool. The night feels good, like it has potential somehow.

You order a shot and a beer, watching one of the TV’s above the bar. The shot burns a path down your throat and into the pit of your stomach, and you chase it with a swallow of beer. 

The bartender is cute. He winks when he brings you another shot. He’s athletic, clean cut, obviously making bank in tips from the ladies lined up to order from him. 

You smirk. You know deep down that you’re not his type, but you wink back anyway. A little flirting never hurt anyone, and if you get lucky then hell yeah, bring it on. 

Couples are scattered around the bar, some lost in each other, some paired up in groups. You spot one making out, obviously oblivious to the rest of the world. 

Yuck. _Save the PDA for when you get home_ , you think. _Don’t subject the rest of us to it._

A laugh behind you, loud and obnoxious, instantly makes the muscles in your shoulders tighten. 

_Gabriel._

Figures he’d be here to ruin your night. You haven’t seen him in awhile and had hoped he’d stay away. The laughing, joking, trick playing archangel drives you crazy. 

You glance over your shoulder. Just like you figured, he’s surrounded by women. He’s standing in the middle of three tables of them, a large bachelorette party from the looks of it. 

He must have said something scathingly funny, they’re falling all over themselves laughing. 

Ugh. You cannot stand him. He’s not funny. He’s annoying. 

He pulls a buxom, fake blonde up by her hand, slips an arm behind her waist and starts dancing. You’ve never seen him dance, but he’s good. Of course he is. He’s good at anything that entices women into bed. 

Jerk. 

He whispers in her ear and she blushes, smiling. 

You shake your head. She’s just his type. Curvy in all the right places, fake blonde hair from a bottle, drowning in makeup. More power to her if she wants to look that way, not like you care, but she’s what he _always_ goes for. 

Lots of women look his way. You know because you’ve seen them. The pretty, but somehow plain women who don’t stand out. Those jeans and t-shirt kinda girls, like you. The ones who might not be model pretty, but who look sweet and kind. So many of them stare at him like he hung the moon. He never gives them a second glance. He’s as shallow as a wading pool. 

And why are they all so infatuated with him anyway? He’s not even that good looking. Well, he’s okay you guess. Fine, he’s a good looking guy, or angel, whatever. But what is it about him that seems to attract women like moths to a flame?

You roll your eyes and turn away. You don’t even know what it is about him that pisses you off so much. He’s just so… You don’t even know. 

You try to force yourself to relax. This is the first night you’ve had off from hunting in weeks. You want to kick back and let your hair down. 

Gabriel slides in beside you and waves at the bartender. 

“Fancy meetin’ you here,” he says, a cocky grin on his face. 

You roll your eyes again. They’re going to get stuck that way. 

“Hi,” you answer flatly. 

“Having a good time?” He asks. He angles himself toward you, leaned into the bar all casual like. 

“I was,” you say irritatedly. 

The bartender wanders over and gives Gabriel a brilliant smile, handsome face lighting up, perfect teeth showing prettily. He hasn’t smiled at any women like that. 

“What can I get ya, handsome?” The bartender asks. 

Gabriel orders a round of drinks for the bachelorette party behind him. “You want anything?” He asks, looking at you. 

You’re actually shocked for a minute. You figured he’d forgotten your existence, like he usually does. 

“No,” you say, a sharpness in your tone that you hadn’t intended. After the word is out you realize that it sounded rather rude.

“You’re always in such a good mood,” Gabriel turns away, focusing on the bartender again.

Anger bubbles in your belly. Who does he think he is talking about your mood? He doesn’t know anything about your mood. You’d been in a perfectly good mood until he showed up.

“Why are you here?” You demand.

He barely acknowledges you. “Just lookin’ for a good time, sweetheart.” 

“You weren’t even hunting with us, why show up now?” You look him up and down. He’s dressed sharp but not intimidatingly so, black leather jacket, charcoal jeans. He looks like a guy, not a celestial being, and he’s standing way too close to you. It makes you uncomfortable.

He shrugs. “I didn’t know I needed a signed permission slip from you to go to a bar.” 

God, you cannot stand him. 

The waiter looks between the two of you like he’s trying to figure something out. He finally looks at Gabriel. “So, you’re a hunter? What do you hunt?”

You cringe. You shouldn’t have let that slip. Gabriel always gets you so riled up that you say something stupid. It’s his fault. 

“He usually hunts blondes with big boobs,” you mumble under your breath, sipping your beer. 

They act like they don’t hear you.

“Little bit of this, little bit of that,” The archangel says vaguely, “I’m always on the prowl.” Gabriel winks at him. 

The waiter beams, then turns to get to work making Gabriels drink order. 

Gabriel glances at you from the corner of his eye. He leans on the bar, seeming to want to say something. That’s the only reason you can see why he’s still standing there.

You turn your head and look at him expectantly, waiting. 

He turns his head, eyes meeting yours, and clears his throat.

The blonde bounces up. “Gabe, come on! We’re about to start doing shots!” 

His attention breaks from you. “Well, can’t miss that now can we?” He looks at you fleetingly, flashes you a wink, and lets her drag him away. 

What an ass. There’s way too much winking going on this bar. It’s a total cliche. And a drag. This is not how you wanted the night to go. You might as well head back to the motel. 

You down your last shot and empty your beer. Just as you get up to leave, Dean appears. 

“You up for a game of pool?” He leans into the bar just as Gabriel had.

Pool might not be bad. You look to where Sam and Dean are. There’s a woman waiting with Sam. You can tell by the way she’s looking at you that she’s after Dean, and she’s not going to let you be competition. 

You don’t care. You love Dean as a friend. Both of the Winchesters are like brothers to you, and you’ve never wanted to screw that up by sleeping with them. That woman has nothing to worry about. 

“Sam need a partner?” You ask. 

Dean smiles. You know him so well. 

A whooping cry behind you makes you turn around. The blonde has donned a sash emblazoned with “Bride to be!” in huge letters. She’s wearing a crown of plastic penises, and as you watch she whoops again and jumps on Gabriel's back. 

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy!” She exclaims to the entire bar. 

Everyone is laughing, smiling, enjoying this woman who’s out for a last night of freedom. 

What an idiot. He’s not even a cowboy.

You groan internally, then realize you actually did it out loud. Dean heard it. He’s watching you now. 

“I think I’m going to head out,” you tell him. 

“Already?” Dean checks his watch. “It’s only nine thirty.” 

You give him a half shrug. “Just not in the mood.” 

He doesn’t argue, letting you pass around him before heading back to Sam and the woman. 

As you walk back to the hotel you’re fuming, wishing Gabriel hadn’t ruined your night, wishing you hadn’t let him, wondering what it is about him that gets under your skin so much.

You could make a list of a million things if you had the time. How he’s never serious, never reliable, never helpful. He’s not after anything but a good time, and something about that drives you _crazy_. 

You storm into your room and flop down on the bed, seething. You flip the TV on and run through the channels. Nothing on. You grab the book you’d been reading and try to focus. It’s useless. Finally you lay back in the dimly lit room and stare at the ceiling, willing the anger to go away. 

Whatever your deal is with Gabriel you’ve got to let it go. He’s not worth being mad over. Hell, you probably won’t see him now for a month or more. Who cares what he’s doing with the blonde bimbo. 

That’s not fair. You shouldn’t call her a bimbo. You don't even know her.

“Well, well, looks like someone is having a raucous good time.” 

The lilting Scottish accent rips you out of your musings, scaring you have to death. 

“Hey, Row,” you say, sitting up. 

She’s seated herself in one of the dingy chairs. She embodies more light than any of the lamps in the room, hair a perfect tangle of red curls, eyes lined in her perfect cat fashion, nails shining red and immaculate. Rowena looks beautiful, as always. 

“Thought you were going out?” She asks casually, and you know from her tone that she’s digging for information. You’d been excited to go out, ready for a night with no responsibilities, and now here you are, in bed at ten o’clock. 

You shrug one shoulder. “Overrated,” you sigh. 

She quirks an eyebrow at you but doesn’t say anything. 

Your friendship with Rowena is new, and really, you’re not sure it can even be classified as a friendship at all. But with you and her being the only females around most of the time, you’d both figured that being friends was a lot better than being enemies. Even if she is a witch. 

“Something happen?” She finally asks, inspecting her nails. 

You ponder telling her about your hatred of Gabriel, how he ruins everything, and decide against it. Giving her personal information like that probably isn’t the best idea. 

“Just got irritated,” you answer vaguely. 

“Was there a _man_ irritating you?” She purses her lips, and you wonder from her inflection on the word man if she’s killed one for irritating her. Probably. 

You shake your head. “Bachelorette party. Loud and the center of attention.” 

She blinks those long eyelashes at you. “Would _you_ rather be the center of attention?” 

What? Oh god no. You tell her such. 

You can tell she’s perplexed by you. “You know what I think, dear?” 

You shake your head. There’s no telling what she thinks. You wouldn’t even hazard a guess. 

“I think you need to get laid.” 

You practically choke. You would if there was something to choke on. You laugh instead, fake and forced. She’s actually not wrong. You’ve been hoping to find a decent guy for just that reason. Just another opportunity Gabriel ruined, when you think about it.

“No prospects,” you admit, feeling it sting. It’s not like you’ve got guys throwing themselves at you. 

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “you’re surrounded by prospects.” 

“No I’m not,” you look at her like she’s got two heads, “who am I surrounded by that I can sleep with?” 

She rolls her eyes at you. She doesn’t try to hide one iota of the epic eye roll. “Open your eyes, love. You’re surrounded by virile men. Pick one and hop into bed.” 

You’re appalled, and by the smirk she gives you you know she can see it. “Do you mean Sam and Dean? I’m not sleeping with them, we’re friends.” 

Another eyeroll. She should stop that, her eyes might stick that way. 

“I could make them forget, if you’d like.” 

You’re ashamed to admit that you entertain that idea for a half a second. Okay, maybe a _whole_ second, but that’s all. 

“Hell no, that sounds…” You can’t even say what it sounds like. The thought of sleeping with them and making them forget makes your skin crawl.That’s a big ‘ol nope in your book. 

She sighs like you’re exhausting. “Fine. What about a love spell? Anyone you’d care to have fall in love with you?” 

You blanche. What a horrible thought, forcing someone to fall in love with you. If making someone forget sex sounded bad this sounds like a nightmare. 

“ _No!_ ” You instantly shut her down. 

“You realize I don’t offer these things to just anyone? I’m offering because we’re friends, dear.” 

You try to see it from her side. She has power and she’s offering to use it to help you. Even if her idea of helping is manipulative and gross, she’s still trying to help. You can’t thank her, but you do at least nod your recognition. 

She blinks at you, obviously thinking your nod isn’t sufficient. “I’m at least getting you laid. You’ve been edgy lately and I’ve had enough of it.” 

You bristle. You have not been edgy. How dare her. You open you mouth to tell her so, and that you aren’t friends after all, but she waves a hand at you. 

Your mouth is open but no words are coming out. Rowena makes a motion in the air, then says something in a language you don’t understand, and your whole body tingles. Lights flash behind your eyes, and then everything goes dark. 

You wake sometime later, maybe a minute, maybe an hour, and watch Rowena walk to the door of your room. You’re too tired to move, too confused to remember exactly what happened. 

She stops at the door, holding it open, turning back to look at you. “You’ve got seventy two hours. The longer you wait the more uncomfortable you’ll be, and if you make it to the third day, which you won’t, you’ll regret it.” 

She pulls the door shut behind her with a quiet, final click. You wonder what she was talking about. Third day? Uncomfortable? You should probably try to figure this out, but sleep sounds so much better. 

You curl up and sleep like the dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Banging on your door startles you out of the deepest sleep of your life. You blink, confused, not knowing where you are, what time it is, hell, for a second you can’t even remember your own name. 

“Rise and shine!” Dean yells through the door. 

Dean. You know Dean. He’s the guy with the broad shoulders, stunning good looks, green eyes that could melt you. 

You shake your head. “Yeah?” You yell. You try to smooth your hair down. Your clothes are a rumpled, slept in mess. 

“Leaving in thirty,” he calls back. 

Leaving? Right, for the bunker. Home. You’re leaving to go back to the bunker in thirty minutes. Damn, you’ve got to get yourself together. 

You jump up and shower fast as lighting, throwing on your last set of clean clothes. Your belongings are crammed back in a duffel bag, and then your headed out the doorway. 

It’s when you get to the car, leaned back on the long, sexy expanse of the Impala, that you start to feel funny. 

You watch Sam and Dean crossing the parking lot to the car. It’s like watching the intro to a cheesy eighties music video. Dean, with those bow legs, striding, flannel blowing out at his sides. His face in stern, concentrated, all business. 

Sam, that hair blowing in the breeze, all hard angles and jaw lines. He’s so tall, so long and lean, all muscle and steel power. What you wouldn’t give to have these two on top of you, driving into you, hitting home with all the force--

You cut your gaze away. 

Oh god. What the hell was that? You’ve thought the boys were good looking before, hell you’ve even told them they look damn handsome a time or two, but you’ve never lost yourself in a slow motion porn while staring at them. 

You pray to all the gods that it never happens again. 

You climb in the backseat before they even make it to the car, slumping down like you’re tired. 

Dean glances over the seat at you as he slides behind the wheel. You most certainly do not wish he was sliding into the back seat between your legs. 

Nope.

“You okay?” He asks. 

What’s that supposed to mean? “I’m fine, why?” Your answer comes out a little more stern than you intended. 

“Tried three times to wake you up this morning, now you’re going back to sleep? Plus you ditched us at the bar last night.” He turns the key and Baby roars to life. 

“I didn’t ditch you.” Did you? You’re not so sure about that. Things at the bar are pretty fuzzy, and everything after you left is a blur. You don’t tell him that. “I just wanted to be alone. And I’m tired, whatever.” You realize you’re being way to touchy, but dammit, all these little flashes of sex with Dean are throwing you off. 

Dean doesn’t respond. 

His shoulders look really good in that flannel. It’s pulled tight, stretching over his biceps as he expertly steers Baby through town. Man, you bet those strong arms would feel good wrapped around you. 

You close your eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath. 

_Oh god,_ Sam smells amazing. You’re right behind him in the car. He smells clean, fresh, very masculine. You could reach out and touch that silky hair, run your hands over his wide back, slip over the seat and straddle his lap. 

Shit. _Shit._ You’ve got to get it together. There’s not much of a drive left to the bunker, but every minute of it is going to be torture if you keep this up. 

“You see Gabriel last night?” Dean asks. 

Anger crashes through you like a wave. You’re not even sure why you’re angry, you just are. 

“No,” you mutter, “thank God.” 

“Really?” Sam asks. “I thought I saw you talking to him at the bar.” 

You furrow your brow, trying to remember. It seems like there was something about a leather jacket, but it’s all such a haze. 

“You see that blonde he was with?” Dean asks Sam, he makes a perfect sign with this fingers. 

You want to puke. A vision of a crown of penises floats through your mind. _What the hell?_

“Why do you hate him so much anyway?” Dean questions. “I mean, I’m not his biggest fan but it’s like you got it out for the guy. He’s kinda helpful sometimes.”

Key word there being sometimes. 

“Why do you care if I hate him or not?” You demand. What is this, some kind of interrogation? Gabriel probably put them up to it. He probably wants to know why you hate him. 

No, that’s stupid. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t like you either. 

Great. Now you’re thinking about Gabriel. Ugh.

They let it drop.

You curl in on yourself and try to block everything out. 

It doesn’t work. You can smell Sam. And Dean. How is that possible? It’s like you’ve got a super sniffer all of a sudden. 

You stick your earbuds in, close your eyes, and pray the drive goes fast. 

It doesn’t. 

You’re uncomfortable in the back seat, moving constantly. Legs up, legs down, stretched out, balled up, sighing, twisting, jeans cutting into you. You close your legs and practically gasp at the pressure between them, spread them out and feel an ache that hasn’t been there in a long time. 

After three hours Dean whips into a gas station. “What the hell?” He glares at you. It shouldn’t be sexy. It is. “You’re worse than a damn kid. Get out and stretch your legs.” 

Well if you thought you were hiding your restlessness you’re obviously wrong. 

He slams the Impala door as he gets out, stomping into the gas station. 

Sam slides out of the car as you do, leaning back into the door. He glances down and smiles. “You sure you’re okay?” 

A vision of you wrapping your legs around his waist, your bare back pressed to the cold door of Baby as he thrusts into you blasts your mind into pieces. 

You look away. “Fine,” you say tightly, “just want to be home.” 

He nods. “I get that way sometimes too, tired of the road. We should be there in a couple hours, then you can take a break.” 

You don’t need a break, except from them. In fact, as soon as you get back you might just pack your shit and head out on your own hunt. It’ll be like the old days, just you, the open road, and plenty of monsters to kill. You don’t tell him that. 

You sulk off into the gas station to grab a drink and a snack. You missed breakfast because you slept so late. Maybe that’s what’s got you like this. You’re not lusting after Sam and Dean like a horny teenager because you want them, it’s because your brain has been frazzled by hunger. 

Sure, that’s it. 

You grab your favorite junk food and head to the register. The guy working the register is older. He’s got white hair and a belly, and you know he’s probably somebody's Grandpa that plays Santa at Christmas. 

“Howdy, miss,” he says in a deep, booming voice. He smiles at you, rosy cheeks lighting up. “That all for you?” 

You smile back at him and nod. Your hand brushes his as you pass him the money. His hands are big, rough, like he does wood working or works on cars or something. You have a flash of his hands on your naked skin, setting it on fire. 

No. _No._ You turn and bolt with your change. 

As you bust through the door you pass another guy. He isn’t good looking, but he isn’t bad either. He looks a little dirty, grimy nails and greasy hair. You want to smack yourself when you entertain the idea of dragging him into the shower to clean him up before you fuck his brains out. 

Jesus. Something is _wrong_ with you. You duck your head so he doesn’t see the flame in your cheeks, then bee line for the car. 

You stop dead in your tacks two steps out the door. Gabriel is standing at a gas pump putting gas in a minivan. You stare at him. Never in your life have you wanted to run to someone like some sort of cheesy, romance reunion, but that’s exactly what’s in your head now. 

Except it ends with sex. In a gas station parking lot. Not some corny hug and kiss. 

You blink. It’s not Gabriel at all, it’s some woman in pajamas, hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. You can hear two kids in the van fighting. 

Of course it’s not Gabriel. He doesn’t drive, he flies. And if he did drive you can’t picture it being a minivan. He’d probably have a lamborghini or something else ridiculously outlandish. And sexy.

You shake your head. Dammit, Gabriel is not sexy. Or the car he’d have isn’t sexy. Or whatever. You turn away from the van and head to the Impala.

Dean is milling around, talking on his cell phone. 

“Let’s go!” You bark at him. 

He looks at you like you’re crazy. You kinda are at the moment. You sit in the back seat and breathe. In out. One after another. 

You try not to notice the dampness in your underwear, the tightness of your bra. Just breathe. Calm. Cool. Collected. That’s what you are. In a couple hours you’ll be at the bunker and then you can hit the road running, burn off this edge that’s got you turned inside out. 

“What the hell did I do?” Dean demands as he backs the car back onto the road. 

You decide to be honest. Not fully honest, obviously, you’re not going to tell him that the deepness of his voice is making you shiver at the moment, but honest enough that maybe he’ll leave you alone. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t feel right today. I’m ready to be home.” 

He’s quiet for a minute, and when he speaks again there’s a touch of apology in his tone. “Coulda just said that and I wouldn’t have stopped.” 

You don’t reply because if you did it would be snippy. Instead you focus on your breathing, trying to meditate, find your balance again. It doesn’t work. 

Two long, edgy, frustrating hours later you practically run from the car, and from Sam and Dean. 

You’d had to stop yourself twice from touching Sam’s hair. You’re pretty sure Dean saw you the second time. And you’d thought about licking Dean’s ear. Seriously. _Licking_ it. And numerous other things. All the while getting hotter and hotter. 

You hustle through the door to your room and slam it closed behind you. Finally, sweet solitude. You didn’t think you’d ever make it here. 

You strip your jeans off, shirt and bra to follow, all thrown across the room. The relief is instant, and then gone. Your breasts feel heavy, nipples hard, you ache between your legs for relief. What the hell is going on? 

“Ah, you’re home.”

You spin to see Rowena sitting in your high back chair, tucked into a corner of the room where you like to read. 

“You look lovely,” she coos. “Did you have a nice drive?”

You snatch the blanket off your bed and wrap yourself in it. 

“Oh now, no need to be shy. It’s just us girls.” Rowena scrunches up her nose all cute like. 

“What the hell are you doing in my room?”

She puts a delicate hand to her throat, looking pained. “I thought we were friends.” 

You sit on your bed, trying not to notice how swollen and sensitive it is to sit. 

“So,” she says cheerily, “tell me about the ride home.” 

She knows. You know it instantly. You should have realized it when she wasn’t shocked at you stripping. 

“What did you do?” It’s a demand and an accusation all in one. 

She smiles, those perfectly penciled lips shining brightly. “Have any fun with the Winchesters?” She draws their last name out, make it dance prettily in her accent. 

“No!” You deny it fiercely, angrily. 

It surprises her, her eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. “Really?” She seems to appraise you then, taking your measure. “Not even tempted by a Winchester sandwich? You’re stronger than I thought, dear one.” 

A Winchester sandwich. With you in the middle. You chew your lip at the thought. Good thing you hadn’t thought of that in the car, you’d have climbed the seat for sure. 

You shake it off, turning back to Rowena. “What’s going on?”

“You don’t remember?” She asks honestly. When you shake your head she seems surprised again. Surprising a witch twice in one day can’t be a good thing. “Perhaps the magic I used was a wee bit stronger than I thought.” 

She stands and crosses the room to you, placing a hand to your brow. You flinch as you feel the magic flare inside you, practically causing an orgasm. What the hell?

You bat her hand away. “What did you do to me?” 

Mirth sparkles in her eyes. “Just a tiny bit of a spell to end your self inflicted abstinence.” 

Your what? You stare at her, confusion plastered on your face. It hits you then like a ton of bricks. Rowena in your room last night, her waving her hand and you blacking out, her leaving and telling you you had seventy two hours. 

“What happens in seventy two hours?” You demand. You’re going to kill her, but first you’re going to find out what exactly is going on. 

“If I were you I don’t think I’d want to find out,” she smirks, moving back to the chair to gather her purse like she’s leaving. Like you’re going to let her leave. 

“I’m going to kill you,” you growl through clenched teeth. 

She rolls her eyes. She does that way to much. “You might want to kill me now, but you’ll be thanking me later.” She moves to the door, hand on the knob. “You want me to send Dean your way? Maybe Sam? Or both? I’ve always thought both would be lovely.” She lets her eyes go a little dreamy and you lunge from the bed. 

Another wave of her hand and you’re frozen. She’s way too damn powerful, and you’re beyond pissed. 

“Why the hell haven’t they killed you yet?” She knows who you mean. Why Sam and Dean let her live is beyond you. 

“Probably because I’m indispensable,” she smiles sweetly, “plus they can’t. So, do you take one Winchester or two with your tea, dear?” 

“Don’t send them to my fucking room,” your eyes are probably red with rage. 

“No need for profanity,” she blows you a kiss as she exits the room, calling over her shoulder, “See you in a few days. If you survive.”


	3. Chapter 3

Realization dawns. Rowena put some kind of a sex spell on you. You have seventy two hours, and then if you haven’t had sex you might die. Or, at least, you figure you’ll die. “If you survive,” seems pretty ominous. 

What. The. Hell. 

What are you going to do? You close your eyes. You can’t think. Now that you know what’s happening to your body it seems to be awakening even stronger yearnings. 

You’ve never been this horny in your life. You need to get off. Now. 

That’s it! You’ve got enough toys that you can fake your way through this. Kinda like you’ve done with several guys before. Ha! If you can fake it with that guy from Oklahoma six months ago and make it believable you can sure as hell fake some sex that ends a sex spell. 

You got this. 

With a newfound determination you raid your underwear drawer, pulling out a vibrator and a dildo. Yep, this should be easy. 

You’re already wet, you have been since you saw Sam and Dean striding across that parking lot like a couple of runway, hunter, sex god models. 

You ease the head of the dildo in, desperate for something to fill you up, stretch you open. You can feel your wetness running down, soaking the sheets, making wet, slick noises as you work up a rhythm. It does the job, for a few minutes. 

Then you add the vibrator. The shock of the vibration almost pushes you over the edge instantly. _Almost._ You turn it up. You’re so close. You work them in tandem, fucking yourself with the dildo, rocking your hips into nothing, no one, as you ride the wave closer, closer. So close. 

You can’t get there. You need a different position. 

You stick the suction up end of the dildo to the floor and lower yourself onto it, this way you have a free hand to pinch your nipples playfully. The other hand ups the vibrator again and sets it on your clit. 

You rock, fucking yourself hard and hot, desperate to come. God you want to come. You _need_ it. You might die without it. Literally. That’s a scary thought. 

A knock on the door shocks you. 

“You okay?” Sam asks. 

Oh God, if Rowena sent him here you really will kill her. 

You freeze, mid stroke on the dildo. “I’m fine.” You don’t sound fine. Your voice sounds tight, brittle. 

“What’s that noise?” 

You close your eyes. The vibrator is turned up so high he can hear it. You’re mortified. You’d turn it off but then he’d probably know what it is. Plus you don’t want to, you’re so close to coming that you’re thighs are quivering. 

“Just the TV,” you lie. It’s a lame lie too, no way he’s buying that. 

He clears his throat. “Can I come in?” 

_YES. Please come in and fuck the shit out of me, Sam. Fuck me like you mean it, like I’m burning and you’re the only thing that can put out the flames. Fuck me like I’m dying, because I might actually be._

“No, I’m not feeling well. I don’t want you to catch it.” You squeeze your legs together, unable to resist a slide up and down the dildo. “I’ll be okay though, I’m going to nap.”

There’s a long pause from Sam and you figure he’s left. You’re so wet that the dildo makes a squelching noise as you ride it. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says finally. 

_I need your dick. Which I figure is huge. I need to ride it until my brain explodes. Please don’t leave. Please come in. Please._ Your brain is begging but your mouth ain’t talking. 

You rock your hips, slam them down, fill yourself, tease, desperate, needy aching. Nothing works. You don’t know how long you try, longer than you should judging by the soreness in your legs, but you finally concede defeat. 

This magic is smart. It knows the difference between the real deal and your impersonation. This might work to satisfy you during a dry spell, but this magic ain’t falling for your dildo. 

It wants Sam. Or Dean. Dean would do just fine too. Or anyone, really. As long as their alive and breathing and into it, you’re pretty sure it would work. 

You’re not fucking Sam or Dean. 

Who are you kidding. You have to. You’ll die.

No you won’t. Rowena wouldn’t hex you with any kind of deadly magic. She said that to make you cave, scare you into bed with someone to get this over with. 

You’ll show her. All you need is a cold shower and a lot of alcohol and you’ll be fine. You’ll pass out and sleep it off. 

On second thought, being drunk would lower your inhibitions. Probably not a good thing with the spell raging a hormonal war in your body. 

No, not alcohol. But a cold shower should help at least. 

You snatch your robe on and stealthily slip to the bathroom. You don’t want to risk passing one of the boys in the hallway. Actually, that’s not true. You do want to see them. You just know you shouldn’t. 

The shower is no help. The water tickles your skin sensually. Even though it’s cold, a steam builds in the stall, you’re pretty sure your skin is so on fire that it’s evaporating instantly. 

You can’t help but slip a hand between your legs, frustrated, knowing it won’t help but not able to stop. You wind yourself up, close, muscles clenching but no release. 

“Damn,” you swear, head resting on the shower wall. You’re going to think of very inventive ways to kill Rowena until this passes. 

“Everything okay in there?” 

You practically slip on the floor you jolt so violently. When did Dean's voice get so deep? How did you not notice it before? 

“I’m okay.” Why won’t they leave you alone? It’s like they know. If Rowena told them she’ll die three times over. 

No, they can’t know. If they did they’d leave you alone. Or be in the shower with you. They’re checking because they can tell you’re distressed. You never act like this. You need to try to be cool. Calm. 

You know he hasn’t left. He’s standing in the door to the shower room. He can’t see anything, you’ve opened it to ask him how long he’d be on several occasions, never giving it another thought. Now you wonder if you’d ever interrupted him jacking off. 

You wonder what his cock looks like. 

Heat blooms between your legs, hotter, stronger. 

“I just need to be alone for awhile, Dean,” you tell him, softening your voice, trying to get the quiver out of it. “I’ll be okay, I promise.” 

You imagine he’s nodding. He doesn’t say anything else. You hear the door to the bathroom click shut. 

You cut the water off and dry quickly. He better not be waiting in the hallway. If he is you’ll jump him. 

He’s not. You’re relieved. And let down. 

Back in your room you lock the door behind you. What the hell are you going to do? How are you going to get through this? You’re not even twenty four hours in. 

You get in bed and cover yourself, flip on the TV. You entertain the idea of watching porn for two seconds, then disregard it. Bad idea.That would be torture. 

You find something on that’s not a infomercial, late night TV sucks, (it must be later than you thought), and try to relax. 

You manage sleep, although fitfully, with dreams full of sex. Images of you with Sam, with Dean, then Rowena. Flashes of Gabriel and Cas, old boyfriends. 

You roll over, trying to get comfortable, wishing for sleep with no dreams. 

Gabriel floats into your minds eye, only this time it’s not sex. He’s watching you through something like a TV screen, but the picture is bad, staticy like, and colors are swirling over his face. There’s an intensity in his eyes when he stares at you that you’ve never seen before. It’s scary. And exciting. He raises a hand, offering it to you, and then the picture cracks and is gone. 

Sex takes over again, the cute bartender this time. The guy from the gas station is next, and then Gabriel once more. 

That’s disturbing. 

You’re hot and then cold. Blankets on, blankets off. You know at times someone is knocking. You ignore it. The next time you wake up your dresser is pushed in front of the door. You don’t know when you did that, but you’re glad. Your subconscious must be trying to save you from sex you’ll regret. 

In the morning you sit up against the headboard. You check your phone. 6:26am. There’s a text from Sam. 

“I heard something in your room, you ok?” 

That was four hours ago. 

“Bad dream.” You shoot the text back. You figure he’s asleep, which is good. You don’t want to risk texting him something stupid. Like, _get in here and fuck my brains out, big boy._ He would too. That’s the thing. Either of them would help you through this. But who wants to have sex with someone who’s only doing it because of a spell? 

Well, technically you do. But that’s not the point. 

“Need to talk?” It pops up before you even set your phone down. That’s Sam, always trying to talk and work through things. 

You resist the urge to tell him to talk sexy to you, instead telling him maybe in a couple days. If this is day two of the spell hopefully it’ll be over by tomorrow night. You’ve just got to hold out until then. 

You throw the blankets back, baring your naked skin to the cool air. It helps for a second, then it’s not helping but fanning the flames of your lust. 

Ugh. This sucks. 

Actually, it might not suck if you had someone to work it out on. As it is though, you’re not sure a man could take it. You’d probably hurt him with the vigor pulsing through your veins. And you’d wear him out for sure. 

You get up. Pace. Do some push ups, trying to burn off a little energy. It doesn’t touch it. Jumping jacks, no help. Actually, the bouncing of your bare breasts might make things worse. You pace some more. 

A knock on the door. 

God dammit. You told Sam you were fine, why is he at your door?

“Yes?” You yell. 

“Breakfast?” Dean asks. 

_Are you on the menu? Can I have a buffet of Dean Winchester? I’d like to lick every inch of your bod--”_

You shake your head, trying to push the thought of flinging the door open and jumping on him out of your mind.

“I’m not hungry, thanks.” It’s true. You didn’t even eat the gas station snacks from yesterday. You haven’t felt hungry since this whole spell thing started. Except hungry for sex. 

You should really put some clothes on. One of these times they’re going to force the door open and you’ll be butt naked. On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t put clothes on. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. 

You force yourself to your dresser. Clothes feel too irritating against your sensitive skin, so you grab the softest, silkiest thing you’ve got. It’s also the only lingerie you’ve got. A satin, spaghetti strap tank that your swollen breast fill out better than ever before, and a small pair of matching shorts. 

You bought the set forever ago and hadn’t had the opportunity to wear it, and no one to wear it with. You still don’t. 

You try to sit in your chair and read. It’s no use. Your mind is full of triple x porn, your body is practically vibrating with lust. 

Your ears perk up sometime just after noon. You heard something, just for a second, that you thought was Gabriel. 

You stare at the door. You haven’t seriously been tempted to push your dresser out of the way until just now. You consider it, pushing it aside, walking down the hall, seeing if you can track down the archangel. 

No. He’s not here anyway. He wouldn’t be.

You shake it off, literally. Shaking your whole body all over. You move restlessly around the room, pacing, sitting, laying, watching TV, turning it off. You’re getting on your own nerves. Finally you give up, face plant on the bed, and decide to lay there in agonizing horniness until the seventy two hours is up. 

It’s almost instinct to push a hand down between your legs, rubbing at your mound through the satin shorts. It’s not going to get you any relief, but you also can’t seem to help it. 

You rock your hips, humping the mattress. You try to relax, closing your eyes, letting your body take over the movements. You slide into some kind of delirious, sexy haze. 

A soft gasp beside you makes you blink your eyes open. 

“This is _not_ what I expected,” Gabriel says. 

You blink again. He’s not real. He’s another dream, like last night, a figment of your imagination.

You don’t respond. There’s no point. If this is going to be anything like your dreams last night you don’t need to, he’ll do all the talking anyway. 

“I’m not a dream, sweetheart,” his eyes roam over your back, stop at your ass where it’s working up and down on the bed. “Better mood?”

That’s a weird thing for your dream to be saying. He should be fucking you by now. But how would he know you thought he was a dream? Only a dream would know that. 

“Could you do that thing you did in my dream last night?” You ask. You know he’ll know the one. You’d thoroughly enjoyed it. Three times. 

An eyebrow arches at you. “Well, I could, but would you still respect me in the morning?” 

The teasing quip snaps your brain to attention. This Gabriel is _not_ a dream. There had been no coherent conversation in any dream last night, Gabriel or not. Dirty talk, yes. But this? No. 

You fly up off the bed, face flamed in a deep blush. “Get out!” You cross your arms over your chest to cover the nipples showing through the lingerie. At least you’re not naked. 

He’s not hiding the fact that he’s checking you out. You fight the urge to pull your shirt up and off. 

His eyes fly to your face. “Not leaving. Sam and Dean called. They wouldn’t leave me alone until I checked on you. They said you’re acting weirder than usual, and you barred your door.” 

He glances at the dresser blocking the entrance to your room. If he thinks it’s strange he doesn’t say anything. 

“I told them I’m fine.” If he stays here another minute you’re going to lose your composure and jump his bones. You point at the door. “I said get out.” 

His eyes are plastered to your chest. He talks directly to your nipples when he speaks next. “Not without an explanation. They’ll never leave me alone otherwise.” 

“My eyes are up here, you pig.” 

“I know exactly where they are, I’m choosing to look somewhere else.” 

You cross your arms again, blocking his view of your chest. He finally meets your eyes, waiting for you to explain. 

Dammit. He’s not going anywhere. You can see it in the stubborn look on his face. He needs a believable explanation. 

Too bad your brain keeps flashing porn in your head. It makes it impossible to think up a plausible lie. You’re burning up. You want these skimpy clothes off. Your fingers actually skim the bottom of the tank top like you might rip it off any second. 

“It’s a spell.” There. That’s an explanation. “I’ve got another day and a half or so and it’s over.” 

His eyes are roaming your thighs. You can feel wetness pooling between your legs. Damn him. You’ve made it this far without jumping someone. He needs to leave. 

Sparks flare in his eyes. “What kind of spell?”

God help you, he looks so good standing there. The black leather jacket from the night at the bar, pants tight on his thick thighs, hair perfectly touchable. You can see yourself pushing him back against the wall, trailing a hand down his chest, stomach, pulling his belt open--

“Focus,” the sharpness of his tone snaps you out of your thoughts. “I take it it’s something to do with sex?” 

How does he know that? “Yes,” you answer begrudgingly. You don’t want him knowing your business. This is none of his business. You’re doing just fine without his nosiness. 

You take a step towards him without thinking, catch yourself, back away. 

“Who did this?” He’s so serious. You’ve never seen him like this. It’s a turn on. 

Everything is a turn on right now. 

You close your eyes. Maybe if you don’t look at him you’ll be able to resist what your body is screaming at you to do. 

Closing your eyes makes your other senses flare to life. You can smell him. He smells clean, earthy. There’s a hint of something spicy, ancient, a little sweet. 

“ _Who._ ” His voice doesn’t leave room for your thoughts to roam again. 

“Rowena,” you answer instantly. 

“Shit.” There’s a sudden stillness, something so calm you wonder if he left. 

You open your eyes. He’s still there and he looks pissed as hell. 

“I need to tell Sam and Dean.” 

Panic flares inside you. “No!” You practically yell at him. You take a deep breath. “Please don’t. They don’t need to know. I’ll survive. _Please,_ don’t tell them.” 

He seems baffled by your reaction. “Why?” 

Your drawn to step closer to him, instead you back away, sit on the side of your bed. Sitting is so uncomfortable with how swollen and wet you are. 

“Because they’d try to fix it and they can’t. This is Rowena, we both know there’s no undoing her magic. That leaves the only way to fix it is to…” You trail off, leaving him to infer your meaning. 

“Is it a sex or die spell?”

You shrug. “She said I wouldn’t like the consequences if I resisted, she didn’t say what they were.”

“Why are you resisting? Have you taken a vow of celibacy of something?” 

_What?_ “Of course not.”

He seems genuinely perplexed by you. “Then why?” 

You cross your legs, then uncross them from the pressure. “Because I don’t want them to sleep with me because of a spell.”

“If they wanted to have sex with you before the spell, would it matter?” 

You try to ponder that with your sex rattled brain. “No, not really. We’re friends, this would ruin that.” _And besides,_ you think, _there’s no way they could keep up with the amount of sex you’re going to need once you start. You don’t even think both of them could satisfy you._

He raises his eyebrows. Did you say that out loud? Oh god, you hope not. This is embarrassing enough, you don’t need him thinking you’re a nympho. 

“We’re not friends,” he points back and forth between you and him.

No, you’re not. You don’t see why that matters right now. It doesn’t seem like the time or the place to discuss your lack of friendship when you’re in the throws of a--

Oh. _Oh._ You’re not friends. He could help you with this. That’s what he’s saying.

“No,” you shake your head, “you’re gross.” 

He seems shocked at your description, then he laughs softly. “I don’t think gross is an adjective I’ve ever been called before. Charming, charismatic, gregarios, golden boy, passionate, witty--” he holds a hand up, “I could go on, but you get the idea.”

Yeah, you get the idea. He’s conceited. And golden boy? Really? Who would call him that? You scoff. 

“Whatever, you’ve probably slept with every blonde from here to Hawaii. That’s what’s gross.” 

It’s his turn to scoff at you. “You have no idea who I’ve slept with.” 

That makes you pause. 

Pain sears your lower abdomen out of nowhere. You double over, panting. 

“What’s wrong?” The genuine concern in his voice irritates you. Why is he being so nice?

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you lie. 

“Lie,” he calls you on it. 

You ignore him. “You can go anytime now.” 

“I’m not leaving.” 

You stare at each other, both stubborn as hell. 

He takes his leather jacket off, tosses it on your chair, rolls up his sleeves. Damn him. Every woman knows that’s sexy as hell. Why is that sexy as hell? 

“Let me help you.” 

Your resolve is breaking the longer he’s in the room with you. It’s all you can do not to lay back and beg him to fuck you. 

“I don’t want to sleep with someone who’s only doing it to break a spell.” You set your jaw, determined to hold out. 

“Who said that’s why I’m doing it?” He widens his stance again. He’s just as determined as you are. 

You open your mouth for a witty retort. Nothing comes. _He’s lying. He’s just being nice. I’m not pretty enough for him._ You think it, but you sure as hell don’t say it out loud. 

“You’re right, you’re not pretty enough for me.” 

The words sting more than you’d like to admit. You bury the pain down deep, covering it up with anger. 

“You’re _too_ pretty for me. You’re out of my league.” 

You’re stunned. You blink up at him with big, questioning eyes. Did he really just say that? Had you said what you were thinking? You wonder again if he’s reading your mind. 

You chose to ignore his nice words. You don’t know what to do with that. You can’t work through it in the state you’re in. 

“Sam and Dean would hear us.” You throw the lame excuse out there hoping it will work, that he’ll leave. 

Desperately hoping it won’t. 

A smile takes over his face, genuine and charming. “Are you a loud one? I like loud ones.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

And just like that he’s pissed you off again. “I hate you.” 

He sobers instantly. The words hang in the air between you for a few seconds, long enough for you to start regretting them. 

“You’ve made that crystal clear.” Without warning he’s gone. 

You search your room, not believing it. Three little words was all it took and he ran. Figures. He didn’t really want to help, he was just looking for easy sex. The slightest challenge and he’s gone, like usual. 

A pain shoots through you again. They’re like cramps on steroids. Whatever it is has to be from the spell. Damn Rowena. Now you know what she meant by you’re regret it if you resist. The longer you hold out the more painful this will get. And you thought the pounding horniness was bad. 

You stand again, stretching, pushing your hair back from your face, trying to just breathe. You can feel your pulse between your legs, deep in your core. You feel your forehead, wondering what your temperature is. Too high, that’s for sure. 

You wonder seriously for the first time if this spell is deadly. 

You’d been close to giving in with Gabriel. Why did he have to be such an ass? If you die from this spell you’re going to haunt him, make him miserable, make sure he never gets laid again.

You spin in a circle, wondering what the hell you’re going to do, and notice his leather jacket laying on the chair. He forgot it in his haste to run away. You’re going to steal it, it’s a really nice jacket. 

“They’re gone,” the words are whispered from directly behind you. 

Gabriel is so close you can feel the heat from him. Every cell in your body comes to life with him this close. Your back arches into nothing, ass sticking out. He’s not close enough to touch. Your body yearns for him. 

“Where did you go?” You ask. You wanted it to be a demand, instead it comes out sounding husky and sensual. 

“Miss me?” He teases. 

You’re going to punch him. You’re going to turn around and kiss him so hard it bruises your lips. Damn him to hell. 

He chuckles, so close to your neck it makes the hair raise up on your arms. 

“Sent the dazzling duo on a wild goose chase hunt. They’ll be gone for at least three days, possibly five.” 

How he managed to get rid of them so quickly you have no idea. You can’t say you even care. 

“Are you going to let me help you?” 

Let him help you. Like you need help with a math problem, or reaching something on a shelf. Sex is a little more complicated than that. At least to most people it is. You’re not sure it means anything to him. Sex with you probably means less than nothing to Gabriel. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” Is his voice always that smooth? It’s like silk over your skin. The spell must be causing some kind of synesthesia, where you’re feeling sounds, and hearing sensations. It’s weird, and hot as hell. 

“Just seeing you like this is hot as hell,” he smells you, taking a deep breath at the nape of your neck. He hums appreciatively. 

Something clicks in your sex rattled brain. “Are you reading my mind?” 

“Not intentionally,” he smells you again, “just skimming the top.”

You want to be mad, walk away, but more than that you want to back up into him. “Well, stop doing it.” 

“Can’t help it. It’s like you’ve got a megaphone in your head right now. It’s like you’ve got a megaphone over your whole body.” 

Why are you fighting this so hard? It’s like anything else in your life, nothing can be easy. You have to make everything harder than it has to be. Anyone else would have caved the instant this started. They’d have jumped Sam and Dean in the car. Why couldn’t you have done that? 

“Because they’re not right for you,” Gabriel answers your inner dialogue. 

_And you are?_

“Better than them.” 

You can feel the fabric of his shirt on your back. Why doesn’t he touch you? You’re so needy for it. 

“Ask me,” he says softly. 

Ask him to touch you. You can’t do that. You’re too stubborn. 

“You think way too much, Sugar,” the heat between you could combust at any minute, “just ask.” 

As much as you want to, you just can’t say the words. _Please._

“I’ll take it.” 

He presses into you, his chest to your back, and you can’t help but lean back into him. His hands skim your hips, up your arms. You arch, the curve of your ass pressing against his crotch. 

He’s very obviously turned on. 

“You’re wound so tight you feel like you could snap.” 

You know that. Just the ghost touch of his hands made you almost come. How crazy is that? 

He places a palm on your hip. You flinch when he slides it around your belly, low, into the waist of your satin shorts. 

“Shhh,” he tries to quiet you, “let me do this for you. Trust me.” He places a soft kiss to your shoulder. 

His first kiss is on your shoulder. How strange. You wonder if he was this gentle with the blonde bimbo. 

His left hand flies to your throat, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He holds you deliberately still as he whispers in your ear. 

“Stop thinking so much, woman.” 

His other hand works it’s way down your shorts, three fingers press to your mound. He barely has to move them and you’re coming. 

A kaleidoscope of colors explodes in your head, blinding your vision. It’s painful, all consuming sensation. It doesn’t last long, but it’s the most intense orgasm you’ve had in your life. 

You sag in his arms. You wish you could say it gave you some relief, but all it does is leave you a trembling, gasping mess. 

He spins you in his arms, hands gripping the bottom of your ass, lifting you. He backs you into the wall. 

He wraps your legs around his waist, the way you’d thought about doing with Sam yesterday. 

Anger flares in those honey brown eyes when he looks at you. “Stop. Thinking.” 

He kisses you before you can respond, and there is suddenly nothing else in your head, your world, other than Gabriel. There’s no one, no way there could be, because he’s taking up all the space. He owns you in that moment, that kiss, and you give yourself over to him. 

His hands work behind your back, ripping those soft satin shorts like paper. They split apart, leaving you bare against his pants. 

His mouth opens, tongues mingling, searching. 

He balances you between the wall and himself and somehow manages to get his belt open, zipper down, cock free. 

He thrusts into you in one hard, easy shift of his hips, making you scream. You’re coming apart again, orgasm ripping through you instantly, muscles seizing around him. 

You’re not capable of kissing anymore, lost in the throws of sensations that are completely overwhelming. 

He holds onto your hips, driving into you, his thick cock filling you perfectly. 

One orgasm ebs and you manage to wrap your arms around his neck, holding on, knowing another one is close. 

_Don’t stop, ohmygod, don’t stop…_

“Not stopping,” he says through gritted teeth. He tucks his face into your neck, nipping your collar bone. 

The third orgasm is just as intense, and this time when you come he roars through it with you. His hips stutter, his breath hitching, and you know he just had his own orgasm. And not a bad one from the way he’s holding onto you. 

God, you hope he’s not done. If he’s done you’re in big trouble. You’re nowhere near sated. 

A whispered laugh tickles your skin. “Just getting started, sweetheart.” 

He’s not moving, but he’s not pulling out of you either. You want to move on him, but being pressed to the wall prevents it. 

“Stop reading my thoughts.” 

He looks at you with heavy, lust blown eyes. 

_Never seen anything so sexy._

He smiles and you know he heard that thought too. “Stop thinking so loud.”

_He’s such an ass._

He laughs out loud and thrusts. You arch your back, gasping. 

Two can play this game. You shuffle through the dirtiest thoughts you’ve had since this whole thing started, positions, kinks, anything and everything that’s turned you on, wound you up.

That thing he did in your dream last night, how much you liked it. 

A wicked smile slowly covers his face. He kisses you again, long, deep, slow, then spins and tosses you down on the bed. 

With a snap of his fingers you feel yourself cleaned up. He strips out of his clothes in seconds, then snaps again and your satin tank is simply gone. 

His cock is still hard, standing at attention, a glistening drop of pre come on the tip. You want to lick it off. You want to ride it. You want to back up against him.

“We’ll do all that,” heat follows his gaze where it roams over your skin, taking in every curve and dip of your body appreciatively, “and more,” he promises. “I think we’re going get along better than ever,” he says, dropping to his knees between your legs. 

His mouth lands on your mound, licking up the already present wetness, and he moans. 

You moan too, hands fisting in his hair as he swirls an expert tongue over your clit, and then you’re screaming again because you’re coming again and it’s more _Yes, God, yes, Gabriel, yesyesyesyesYES, don’t stop, oh fuckkkk…_

Two fingers press into your clenching muscles as you come and come and come some more. 

You’re rolling from one orgasm to the next until you lose track of how many you’ve had, all you can think is how many you need, which is just _more, more, more._

His mouth breaks away from you and you whine, _don’t stop._

He crawls up over you. “Not stopping,” his mouth is on yours and he tastes like you, smells like you, and you like it. It’s like you’ve marked him somehow, made him yours, if only for a short time. 

He kisses you fiercely, ferociously, slamming his cock home inside you. 

Your head is going to blow off from the intensity of your orgasms. Imagine that at the coroner's office. _Well, you see, sir, I believe I fucked her to death,_ a serious and apologetic Gabriel says. 

The kiss is broken by his laugh. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He angles his hips, hits your g spot when he thrusts, and you’re coming undone again. 

You trust him. He’s not going to let anything happen to you. You believe him. 

He groans softly, face hidden as he lowers it to take a nipple into his mouth. “Killing me,” he says, but you think he should really be doing other things with his mouth, so he does. He does them well. Repeatedly.

Somewhere deep in your mind, you feel walls you built up around yourself, walls to keep him out, to protect yourself, start to crumble. You should really focus on those, patch them up, but you can’t focus on it. 

Maybe later. 

But, right now he’s pulling out, and you’re nails are digging into his shoulders trying to keep him there. He grabs your hips, flips you, pulls your ass up in the air and back onto his cock. He slams himself inside you. 

You raise your ass higher, drop your back, face buried in the sheets. He’s got complete control, you can feel your ass juggle with each snap of his pelvis into you. He feels good, _so good._

He growls. He actually growls. “Feel fucking amazing,” he smacks your ass, “look good too.” 

The snap of his hand sends you reeling again. You’re screaming into your mattress, muffled and short of breath. That kaleidoscope of colors blinds you again. 

His hands grip your hips so hard it hurts, not that you care, but he instantly relaxes them. He slams in and pauses, then three more huge, hard thrusts, and then he goes still, grunting and groaning. He collapses on top of you. 

You laugh a little, knowing you’re not done but that he must need to rest. 

He slides off of you, rolling to his back. He snaps those magical fingers again and cleans you both up. “I don’t need to rest, you need to do some of the work.” 

You turn your head to him, taking in his sex tossled hair, slight flush in his cheeks, golden eyes alight with life. _He looks good. Damn good._

He reaches over and pushes a lock hair off your forehead. “Right back atcha.” 

You try to hide your smile and fail. You most certainly ignore the swelling in your chest, like your heart just grew. This isn’t about your heart, you have to remember that. 

You take a second to study his body, like he did yours. Strong arms, thick, muscular thighs, a dusting of hair. His cock is still at attention, and you want to give it some. 

You crawl over him, lower you mouth, and take one long, leisurely lick up the seam of his balls to the tip of his cock. 

His eyes close, jaw working tightly. He’s fighting to keep control. 

You lick up again, base of his balls, slow, so slow, all the way to the tip. 

His hands are fisted, eyes squeezed tight. “Fuck,” he whispers. 

You open your mouth, work him in as far as you can take him, then roll your tongue. 

His hands fly to your head, fingers tangling in your hair. His hips try to thrust, barely. 

You put a hand around the base of his cock, spit on it, lower your mouth over it again. Working your mouth and hand in tandem you drive him absolutely crazy. 

He swears, pants, thrusts, goes absolutely crazy under your hands and mouth. 

“Spin,” he says, when you take a second to swallow. 

You don’t have to be told twice. You spin your body, lower your hips over his face into a sixty nine position. You take his cock into your mouth, push him into your throat as much as you can. When his mouth touches your clit you almost choke. 

You really want to undo him with your mouth again, but it’s so hard to concentrate when he swirls his tongue just right. He knows it too, because as soon as you think it he does it more. And more. 

You focus. Hand and mouth, work together. Up. Down. Hard suction. Roll your tongue. You see his toes curl and you smile.

You’re coming. It sneaks up on you, blasting your brain apart. You have to pull your mouth off him, try to breathe, but it’s no use. 

When it ebs you pull away from his face. You have to fuck him, ride him, _now._ You’ll play with him more next time, right now you just can’t. But _next time,_ next time you’ll blow his mind.

You turn, line him up and rock your hips down, slow and smooth. When you sit back on your knees his hands move to your breasts, thumbs flicking your overly sensitive nipples. 

You clench your muscles and he hisses. You ride him with abandon, no inhibitions, not self conscious at all. It’s incredible. And freeing. And the best sex of your life. 

You lose track of the positions, the things you try that you’ve always wanted but been afraid to ask for. Gabriel is open to anything, gives you whatever you want, whatever you need, and you revel in it. 

Hours later, or maybe days really, who knows, you finally start to feel something easing, changing inside you. 

He’s on top again, looking down at you, eyes searching your face. He’s moving inside you, slow, languid. He's touched and kissed every inch of your skin. He knows your body more intimately than any man ever has. That's a scary thought. It's also a calming one. He's seen every flaw, every fantasy you've ever been ashamed of, and he didn't run. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” he says, his voice is soft, hoarse. You’ve both done your fair share of shouting through your pleasure. “Feel better?” He asks. 

You stare into those intense eyes and seriously consider lying. _No, I’m not better. Fuck me longer, more, please don’t stop._ You nod instead. 

Smiles lines take shape around his eyes. His forehead drops to yours. “If you don’t want to stop then we don’t stop.” 

The key word there is want, not need, and you both know it. 

You hold onto him, let him lead you through another orgasm, just as intense as all the others, and then finally feel the knot of magic inside you unravel. 

An all consuming exhaustion hits you like a tsunami. He kisses your temple, then lays down and pulls you into him. 

“Sleep, sugar. Just sleep.”


	4. Chapter 4

You wake later in the quiet, dim lighting of your room. He’s still holding you, arms loosely wrapping you up. He seems to be asleep, although you didn’t think angels ever slept. Considering recent events you can’t blame him for needing a nap. 

You watch him, chest rising and falling. His face is relaxed, faint smile lines still present next to those eyes. You brush his hair back gently, trying not to wake him. His skin is lightly tanned, hair seeming to glow like a halo with the soft light of the lamp behind him. 

Golden boy indeed. 

A soft throat clearing beside the bed makes you look away from him. 

It’s Rowena. 

If lunging from the bed wouldn’t wake Gabriel you’d be on your feet in an instant. 

You appraise her through cold eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?” You whisper. 

Rowena looks at Gabriel and then back to you. “Not the one I thought you’d pick, I must admit.” 

You narrow your eyes. Waking Gabriel to kill her might not be a bad idea. 

“Leave. Your sex spell is broken. What more do you want?” 

She smiles at you gently, something akin to pity in her eyes. “Oh, dearest, it wasn’t a sex spell.” 

What the hell is she talking about? Of course it was. 

“Okay, maybe it was just a _tiny_ bit,” she holds two fingers up just millimeters apart to show you, “but it was more of a love spell, and mostly a revealing spell.”

“Explain,” you demand. You don’t have the patience for any more words. 

She rolls her eyes. You hate when she does that. “It called to the one your heart desires most, and he answered, which means he desired you just as much.”

Oh shit. _Shit._ That’s not true. That can’t be remotely true. You shake your head, confusion rattling your brain. 

Rowena smiles at you and this time you’re sure there’s pity in her eyes. “The one your heart desires most isn’t always the one you think it is. You’re smart enough to know that, love.” 

Well, that does explain why you were thinking about sex with Sam and Dean, but never truly considering it. If it has been a sex spell you probably would have slept with them, you wouldn’t have been able to resist. 

This is insane. “Why would you do this?” It’s the only question you can pull out of the tangled mess in your brain. 

Rowena shakes her head at you like you’re dense. 

“Stop feeling sorry for me,” your voice raises slightly and you have to calm yourself. You take a deep breath and ask again. “Why would you do this to me?” _To him?_ You want to add, but you don’t. 

Rowena lowers herself, sitting on the side of the bed beside you. She’s obviously not in intimidated by your murderous stare.

“You were lonely. You were searching for something you couldn’t find. I thought this would help.” She smooths your brow with a gentle, motherly touch. “You have to believe me, I had no idea it would be him.”

Okay, so you can’t deny the loneliness. The emptiness you’d felt after your last one night stand had left you hollow, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. That’s why it had been over six months since you’d had one. She isn’t wrong in what she’s saying, it’s just not something you want to face. 

Those crumbling walls fill your thoughts, the ones you’d built around Gabriel in your mind. They’re gone now, pulverized into dust from what you just experienced with him. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised though,” she purses her lips to hide a sly smile, “I can see it now. It was there all along.” 

You have no idea what she sees looking back now. You don’t care. What’s done is done. 

She nods shortly and stands, smoothing her dazzling dress. 

You venture a question before he leaves, the curiosity taking over. “What would have happened if he hadn’t come?”

“You would have lived. It would have been hell. I’d have made you forget, dear.”

That’s not something you want to think about. Something else tugs in your mind. “What about the pain?” 

Her eyebrows raise. “Did you resist once he came to you? After he offered himself to you?” 

You nod. 

She’s obviously impressed. “Strong girl,” she praises, “your body was demanding you follow your heart, not your head.” 

Huh. Interesting. 

Rowena studies Gabriel, taking in his naked form appreciatively. “I really did think it would be Samual. Maybe Dean, but I doubted it. Or both. I’d have chosen both.” She looks between you and the angel with a new respect, winks, and then she’s gone. 

Well, that was not what you expected. You study the ceiling for a long time, finally turning your head to look at Gabriel. 

His eyes are open, watching you with cautious interest. 

“You hear all that?” 

He doesn’t answer. He searches your eyes, studies your lips, runs a thumb over them like he’s trying to memorize. 

“You wish you’d followed your head and not your heart?” He finally asks. 

Yeah, he heard it all. 

You kiss him, a soft, gentle press of your lips. You can feel from his tenseness that he wonders if it’s a goodbye. So do you. 

You press your foreheads together, close your eyes, feel his closeness. “No, I don’t wish that. Do you?” 

He takes a breath you think he’d been holding, wraps an arm behind you and pulls you close. “I’ll never wish that.” 

You smile. “Promise? What if we're fighting again in five minutes?” 

He laughs softly. “I promise, sugar. And if we fight then we make up. Pretty sure we’ll be good at making up.” He traces the line of your jaw with the tip of his nose.

You think, mulling over things. It’s too much to take in so quickly, but you do have a few questions. 

“Did you really come because Sam and Dean called?” When he’d told you that you hadn’t been in any shape to think it through. It doesn’t make sense. Why would they have called Gabriel? They know how much you hate him. Or did. What you feel for him now is warm, and more than confusing. 

He sighs. “No,” he admits the lie easily, “I didn’t know why I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was driving me insane. I got rid of them before I even showed up. I had to talk to you.” 

You should be mad. You’re not. If he’d told you he was there because he was thinking about you you wouldn’t have believed it anyway, not at the time. 

“Could you have stopped it? Healed me? Taken the spell away without sex.” 

He pauses, and you wonder if he’s about to admit another lie. He could have, he chose not to. That one you might not be so easy to forgive. 

“I don’t know,” there’s honesty in his voice, a little surprise. “I didn’t think of it. I should have thought of that.” 

You can tell he’s doing some mulling over of his own. The spell, whatever it was, had covered all bases. You’re willing to bet if he’d tried to undo it he wouldn’t have been able to. You’re not going to worry about it. 

One last thing won’t get out of your mind. You’re not sure it ever will unless you ask, as much as you hate to. You don’t want to ask him, it might drive a wedge between you. 

You might not like him after he answers. 

“Gabriel,” you say softly. 

He laces his fingers through yours and your heart aches. “Yes?” 

“Why all the women? Why do you sleep with so many?” _Will he still want to sleep with thousands of women? Will you ever be enough?_ Those go unsaid, hanging in the air. 

“How do you know I sleep with them?” 

If he wants to play a game about this it’ll be over before it starts. Tension starts to nag in your muscles. He squeezes your hand in his.

“Think about it,” he goes on, “do you ever see me leave with them?” 

You think back. Technically no, you’d never seen him leave with them, but that’s because you always left first. You hadn’t been able to watch him with them without practically gagging on jealousy, which you thought was hate. 

“No,” you reply. It still makes no sense. “Then why bother with them at all?” 

“Because it’s what you expected of me.” 

Well, that’s not the answer you thought was coming. You’d thought he’d say he was a sex addict or some such craziness. He’s not wrong though. You’d heard about him before you met him, the playboy, the partier, you’d already made your mind up that you didn’t like him. When you met him and felt an attraction for a second you’d instantly started on those walls. No chance to get hurt with those walls firmly in place. 

_Why did he keep coming back?_

“Because you drive me crazy. And because I kinda liked driving you crazy.” 

You laugh at that answer. 

“I wanted an excuse to be near you. Every time we saw each other we were like oil and water. I was starting to think you’d hate me forever, and that I should hate you too.” He pulls your chin toward up so he can look in your eyes. “You made me feel something. It’s been a long time since I felt anything like it. And even if it was hate, at least you felt something where I was concerned.” 

Your heart shatters. You search those golden eyes, regret bringing tears to your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

His thumb rubs the back of your hand. “We get our wires crossed a lot. Gonna have to work on that.” He winks. 

He’s got that right. 

You lay there together in the quiet stillness of your room, relaxing in the comfort of not having to talk. There’s so much to think about, too much to take in. 

You try to stretch and your entire body screams. You hiss in pain. You’re going to be sore for a week. Too many positions and over exertion are kicking your butt now. 

Gabriel’s hand gently breaks away from yours and slides down. There’s a warmth, a soothing that comes from him. It spreads from your center out through your body, invading every cell and calming it. 

You blink at him in amazement. “Did you just heal me?” 

His mouth turns up in a lopsided grin. “Don’t look so impressed, I have purely selfish reasons.” 

You turn toward him, wondering what he’s up to now. “Selfish, huh?” 

He tucks his head under your chin, kissing your neck. Goosebumps break out all over your body in anticipation. 

“What was that I heard earlier about _next time?_ ”

You wrap your arms around his neck, loving the feel of him pressed against you. 

Your stomach growls. It’s so loud it sounds like an animal in the room. Thirst and hunger are suddenly present in your mind. 

He groans, matching the sound of your stomach. He knows you’re going to have to eat and drink. 

“Sorry,” you say teasingly, “can’t help it.”

“Don’t be sorry, we’ve got plenty of time,” he smacks your ass, making you gasp. “But I’m going to make you pay for making me wait.” 

You hold him tighter. You don’t know how you two will make this work, but you’re sure you will. And you know without a doubt that you’ll always be looking forward to _next time._

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been wanting to write a sex pollen or sex spell fic for years, but I couldn’t think of any plots that inspired me. I’d also been wanting to write a hate to lovers fic. This fic was able to check those both off my bucket list.
> 
> Also, I have a kink for mind reading during sex. I haven’t written that in awhile. That was fun.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


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